The Consulting Planner
by VermillonDreams
Summary: Jim Moriarty finds a girl with an amazing talent for planning and plotting and decides to take her as his apprentice. Two years later she begs him to let her challenge Sherlock Holmes to another Great Game. Now Mycroft must watch from the sidelines as his brother and John Watson run around solving her puzzles without telling them that the mysterious girl is Sherlock's Daughter.
1. Talent in a Unique Package

**Hello! Before we get to the story I have to thank my amazing Beta HerebeHobbits for all her help. She keeps everyone in character, the emotions in their right dosage and corrects my grammar, among another bunch of things. **

**Finally, thank you again for your patience. I am very happy to present you the rewritten version of The Consulting Planner.**

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Talent in a Unique Package

February 2010

The girl's hand was shaking as she handed the red flash drive to the man in the expensive suit standing in the private airport hangar in Argentina. He twirled the little plastic device between his fingers before passing it to another man waiting with a laptop next to him.

She felt his dark eyes scanning her. A smirk broke the slight frown of his face as he saw her struggling not to cower under his gaze. He was cutting a red apple with a Swiss knife. The blade moved smoothly, slicing from the polished skin to the core with a satisfactory sound and causing big drops of juice to slide between his fingers. He trapped the freshly cut piece between his thumb and the sharp blade to place it in his mouth. She tried to remember the last time she ate anything more substantial than a lollipop.

"How much is he paying you?" His casual tone contradicted the tense atmosphere.

"Who, sir?" She frowned.

"The coward that sends little girls to face me in his stead. Does he not consider his work good enough to deliver it himself?" He radiated boredom– chewing slowly and staring at her under heavy lids.

"I am responsible for everything in that flash drive, sir." Her stare jumped from man's dark eyes to the half-eaten apple in his hand. She hadn't realized how desperately hungry she felt until now. Her stomach grumbled loudly and her pale cheeks reddened.

"It's good." The other man's baritone confirmed the quality of the flash drive's contents.

"Great!" The man in front of her swallowed the last piece of apple. "Seb, go ahead and tell the pilot we're ready to go as soon as I arrange this little girl's payment."

The sitting man, Seb, nodded and pulled out the flash drive. He closed the laptop and ascended the stairs of the private jet. When he stood, she saw he was taller than the man with the apple.

"It is fortunate you delivered what you promised little girl. The first man cleaned the blade of his knife with a handkerchief in a motion that made it easy to imagine it was her blood instead of the apple's. "And I hate wasting my time." He tossed the apple core away and watched her eyes follow it's trajectory to the rubbish bin.

He put away the handkerchief and knife and searched the inside pocket of his tailored jacket for his phone. "Back to business, then." He typed his password on the screen with one hand and extended the other in her direction. "Your bank account, little miss."

She took four steps forward and deposited a slip of paper in his hand before stepping back to her original position. As she waited for the man to complete the transaction, she looked discretely at her old wrist watch.

'9:32pm'

She cringed at the time and at the thought of what was to come later that night. If she wanted to sleep on a bed tonight she would have to face Madame Gloria's scolding and leather belt. As the owner and manager of 'La Rosa de Seda,' the grumpy woman took her business seriously. The sight of a child entering the establishment during business hours made the clients uneasy. Her achy back and legs still served as a reminder of her last encounter with Madame Gloria's belt, but her back always hurt worse if she chose to sleep on a cold bench in the park.

"So tell me– what is the first thing you'll buy with the three grand you just earned? Something to eat, maybe?" His voice interrupted her thoughts.

With her gaze fixed on her old shoes she confessed, "I haven't thought about it."

"No complaints then?" The man's stare was still fixed on his phone's screen.

"I'm not doing this for the money," she said.

"If not money, then what?" The transaction now complete, the man put his phone away and stood there with his hands in his pockets, observing her. She had big blue-green eyes framed by dark bags, black curly long hair that hasn't been washed recently, and pale skin.

The girl took a deep breath but after a few attempts at coming up with a sentence she just shrugged. Nobody ever understood her motive when she explained it. They all thought she was just seeking attention.

"And what is it that you say you do? Are you a hacker or something?"

"No." She wrapped her arms around herself, her worn-out sweater offered little protection from the wind. "I like to plan. I observe and gather information." She became excited as she explained, "Nothing is impossible, you just need to really think about how to get it done -that's what I do- I think about how to get things done-"

"You're a Planner, then."

She sent him a puzzled look. "Planner?" She took a deep breath and ruffled her curls with her right hand. She tested the word a few times before nodding slowly. "I guess I'm a Planner."

The man raised an eyebrow and tilted his head to the side. "How old are you?"

"13." For a brief moment she made eye contact, then shrank under his gaze.

"13, what a promising age." He stood there, unmoving, for a long moment.

She kept her fidgeting to small twitches of her fingers against the fabric of her sweater for fear anymore movement would interrupt him.

"Show me." He advanced towards her with long steps and gleaming black eyes.

"What?" She barely stopped herself from stepping backwards. She could feel her heart pounding faster the closer he came.

"Show me one of your plans." He was in front of her now, his dark eyes staring deeply into her clear ones, searching for that spark of intelligence ordinary people lack.

She reached down with shaking hands to a battered green backpack resting on the floor by her feet and handed him a black notebook.

"Let's say I want to rob a bank and I ask you to help me, what would you do?" He said as he opened it.

"Here in Buenos Aires? I-I already prepared the plans to rob every bank in this city." Her stutter made her accent thicker. "It's the first thing I do when I move to another city."

The man couldn't help but let out a little smile that slowly widened into a smirk. He liked what he was seeing in the notebook, pages and pages of plans written in black ink in small, neat handwriting. "Have you tested any of these before?"

She looked down and shook her head. "When I write them I don't mean to execute any." She wrapped her arms around herself again to shake off the goose bumps. "They just keep me from being bored."

His humming stopped as he snapped the notebook closed.

She jumped.

He unbuttoned his jacket and leaned forward to reach her eye level. She caught a glimpse of the silver gun by his waist and saw her wide-eyed reflection in his black irises. But even when everything about him screamed dangerous she didn't try to retreat, something else ordered her to stay.

"You and I have the same problem ordinary people don't understand." He spoke in a hushed tone, moving slowly closer until he was whispering in her ear. "I want to share with you the solution to our problem, what I have been searching for all my life. Distractions."

He was so close she could smell his expensive cologne and see the skull motif on the silver pin holding the blue silk tie. The rush of new sensory information was so overwhelming she didn't notice his right hand on her wrist, softly taking her pulse.

"What problem?" Her voice was a hoarse whisper. She closed her eyes, trying to focus on the conversation instead of the puffs of breath tickling her neck.

"Staying alive." He had found that familiar look in her eyes. She was tired of living in an ordinary and so very boring world, a world that doesn't change, static and so very stupid and normal. He knew that look and he knew the consequences of not satisfying that thirst for excitement and challenge. It was like an intense itching she didn't know how to scratch.

Her pulse spiked and her breathing sped up. She always knew her boredom was suffocating and sometimes even hoped that one night it would, out of mercy, finally finish the job and she wouldn't wake up again. This man seemed to understand her daily struggle. He was the first person she'd met with the same flaw as her.

"I am offering you the chance to see your plans to fruition. I want to set you free." He promised with so much passion that she could almost feel the earth rumble. His tone suddenly changed to a soothing one just as he reached to move a stray dark curl behind her ear, his hand caressing her cheek softly in its retreat. "I guarantee that not a second of this new life will be dull, you will never feel so empty and desperate ever again."

She trembled at the new and exhilarating feeling as she imagined such a future. "What do you want in return– " She hesitated for a second. "In return for saving me?" Her eyes scanned for emotions and intentions in his eyes. She needed to be sure he was being sincere, afraid of the disappointment she would face if he wasn't.

He was very lucky to find someone like her. She didn't have much confidence in herself, and even though she wasn't naïve to the harshness of the world, she was ignorant of ways to handle her fast-paced mind. He recognized her as a survivor, the fact that her accent was not Argentinean along with the lack of personal items on her told him she was not attached to a place, family, or a moral guide. She would be easy to mold and shape as he pleased.

"I want to coach you. In exchange, you will use your talents for me." He stood straight again and extended his right hand in her direction. He knew she would take his offer long before she did. He could see her thirst for a distraction and her deadly fear of being bored.

She took deep breaths, trying to focus on analyzing his offer but her mind kept drifting in different directions. Frustrated, she ruffled her curls with both hands and clenched her eyes closed. She forced her thoughts back on track, sorted out the useful information, and reached a conclusion. He might want to help her or he might want to kill her, but either would be better than her current miserable life.

She moved fast to grab his offered hand and held it tightly, afraid he would withdraw it. Her heart beat spiked when his soft but cold hand only tighten its grip, he wasn't letting her go now.

He guided her up the stairs to the private jet with one arm around her shoulders. As she took in the luxurious interior she missed his look of mild disgust when he handed her backpack to the stewardesses.

"Oh! So forgetful of me. What is your name, darling?" He asked in a cloying tone as he sat her down in the comfortable seat facing the man from earlier. A small table separated them. Other than a quick glance he did not react to her presence.

"Alice, sir."

He took a seat next to her, he didn't seem to mind the proximity and even began to run his thumb across the back of her hand. He understood her nervousness– all puppies are scared when meeting their new master for the first time, they just need a bit of reassurance and a bowl of food.

He quickly dismissed the stewardess that informed him that they were ready to take off. "I am intrigued about how you heard about the job." He pointed towards the red flash drive on the table.

"Oh..." She was afraid to say that the stern looking man in front of her had been a client in La Rosa de Seda, and that she had overheard the conversation he was having over the phone while he waited in his designated room for the girls he had requested. Alice had been polishing a large vase in the hall when the girls arrived in their silk robes and high heels. No one had noticed her.

She looked at the man in front of her, his muscular frame and long legs that looked too big for the seat were frightening. Most men preferred to have their activities with sex workers kept secret. She bit her lip. "I pick up a lot of conversation on the streets." She complemented her white lie with a shrug and a change of subject. "You didn't tell me your names." Her voice shook when she felt the plane moving.

"That's Sebastian. Don't let that stern look scare you, honey. He only bites when I order him to."

Sebastian acknowledged them with a slight nod in their direction, one that Alice didn't notice as she clenched her eyes shut when she felt the plane beginning its ascent. She only took a deep breath when the plane stabilized in the air.

The blond stewardess appeared with a rolling cart. She served a scotch on the rocks to Sebastian and handed the other man a steamy plate of risotto. He placed it on the table before Alice.

"Here, darling. Eat. You are far too skinny, we have to fix that." His puppy looked like a common street dog with her disheveled hair and old, ill-fitting clothes.

"Thank you," Alice said as she hesitantly picked up her fork. She would rather have a spoon so she could eat faster but none were offered. "You haven't told me your name yet, sir."

He waited with an avid gaze and a cold smile until the girl took her first mouthful of the risotto before finally delivering his answer. His hand returned the same stray lock of hair behind her ear.

"Puppy, you can call me Jim."

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 **So? What did you think?** **Can I have review with your honest opinion?**


	2. An Unexpected Holmes

An Unexpected Holmes

February 2011

Anthea announced her presence with a subtle knock before walking in with two brown folders and a small box in her arms, her phone on top of the pile. Mycroft Holmes only looked up from his computer when she stood in front of him.

She handed him the small box first. It was rectangular and wrapped in a deep blue and silver paper. He didn't need to read the card to know what it was about, but he wanted a few seconds of distraction from his work.

"My dear friend, don't be so humble. Accept the recognition you deserve for your magnificent work. Keep this small gift so your signature can continue keeping My Kingdom safe."

The satisfied smile that crossed his face disappeared as soon as his eyes fell on the first folder Anthea put on his desk. He set aside the box with his expensive new fountain pen to focus on the thick folder.

On the first page was the title of the new project for a unified enquiry system and database that he proposed and created, designed to make police investigations easier. He had been waiting for the most important signature to implement the system. His smile returned when he saw he had it.

He noticed something different on the document, the title he proposed has been changed, a small post-it note beside it.

"I told you to take credit for one of your best ideas."

He looked back to the new title. He couldn't help but roll his eyes, he knew he couldn't change it. After all, it was an order. Her order.

'Home Office Large Major Enquiry System (H.O.L.M.E.S.)'

He closed the folder and turned to Anthea, still standing in front of his desk, eyes on her phone, the last folder pressed to her chest. He immediately knew something was wrong, she knew to just lay the documents on the desk and then leave, but she was still standing in front of him, shoulders tense.

Mycroft extended his hand to reach for the document and her hesitation, although slight, was enough to set off his internal alarms. Something was seriously wrong. He hated surprises.

Reluctantly, Anthea handed him the mysterious folder. Mycroft opened it without further delay, his eyes scanning over the few pages inside.

"I know it's impossible, but I already spoke with the head of technicians. He said they ran the test 5 times and every time the same result came back. They even checked the samples for contamination," Anthea said.

Reclining back in the chair, Mycroft continued to read.

Search results: [compare to: Mycroft H. {root} ]: 1 extra match than predicted.

[Relation type: Only Family ties \\{coincidence by: DNA}/ Source type: complete data base}]

He frowned. "Not impossible, just highly improbable." His family was one member larger than he thought.

Mycroft skipped the predicted matches and went directly to what was important, only to find that there wasn't anything else in that folder, no picture, no profile and no ID of this mysterious person. He checked the last part again looking for the missing information.

/Extra Match found: [Source: INP1324 {File entry: 23489762763qd32/part_4/evidence_43}]

"INP1324 is the code for the INTERPOL data base, but there is nothing else regarding that file entry in here." He said as he flipped the pages dramatically.

Anthea read from her phone. "I looked into it, that file corresponds to a triple homicide that took place in a concert hall last year. One of the victims was a diplomat. Evidence #43 consisted of a few drops of blood that matched none of the victims or known perpetrators. The only information they have about the source is that it's a female. Nothing else came up in any data base."

Mycroft had to admit he was most surprised by the last line in the last page, he blinked twice to make sure his tired eyes had read correctly. "Inform the technicians they are to flag this match. If anything regarding this comes up in the system, I want to know immediately." He sipped his freshly poured cognac. "And make it an 'Admin only' notification, I want this to be discreet."

She nodded and finally left.

Mycroft reread that last line with an exasperated sigh. He debated with himself over how was he to tell Sherlock, or if he was going to at all.

/Relation found!: [Mycroft H.{root}/match_by{DNA}]: NIECE

"Sherlock, you will be the one to tell mummy about this."

 **Someone asked why there were reviews of chapter 10 if they could only see one chapter, that's because I deleted the old ones to start uploading this rewritten version.**

 **Thank you for your reviews!**


	3. The Countdown

The Countdown

April 2012

It was a normal day between cases at 221B Baker street. Sherlock Holmes was resting on his favorite couch, his hands together under his chin, meaning he was in the process of sorting through his mind palace, his laptop open next to him on the coffee table.

John Watson was on his own laptop, staring at the screen with a slight frown on his face, he has just logged into his bank account and what he was seeing did not make sense. The telly was playing the news, but only to provide background noise and no one was paying it much attention.

Sherlock suddenly stood up and began pacing around the living room. "We have no new cases, John. Why don't we have a new case? I'm not asking for a triple homicide, I just want something above a five. That's not asking for much, is it?"

"I'm pretty sure at least one person has emailed us about a possible case, why don't you take a look at one of those?" John only spared him a brief glance. Sherlock's boredom was nothing new. He was thankful his flatmate hadn't shot anything yet.

After that night at the pool with Moriarty and the whole Irene Adler phase, Sherlock had been restless after finishing cases. John knew that Sherlock wouldn't admit it, but he was expecting another one of those, another ten. He needed something with the excitement and chase of that Game.

Sherlock continued his rant while John fetched his phone from the coffee table. He needed to contact his bank to solve the alarming situation of his bank balance.

Sherlock's mimicked the whining of his clients, "Sherlock, please help me someone stole a statue that nobody remembers. Sherlock, the library won't let me return this book, they said it's not theirs. Sherlock would you please catch the 2,21 thief..."

Sherlock continued but John's brain kept repeating that phrase '2,21 thief'. "What's the 2,21 thief, Sherlock? I haven't heard of them."

Sherlock answered while picking up his violin from the couch. "Just some scam. Someone is stealing 2,21 pounds at a time from people's accounts or charging it to their credit cards. Boring!" He motioned with the bow to the television, where the reporter was talking about it.

John tried to listen over the notes of the violin. "Nobody knows the exact M.O. of the 2,21 Thief, the only thing we know so far is that they strike only once per victim. The police can't find a connection among the victims, these thefts seem to be at random. The banks don't know what to tell their clients except to change their passwords constantly."

John cursed and hung up the phone. Apparently his bank was not the one responsible for the money missing from his account, nor could it offer any solutions.

At this, Sherlock spared a glance at his flat mate.

"Just my bloody luck! Everyone else gets shorted 2,21 quid only once but apparently the thief hates me because I've been charged that amount daily for the last 22 days for no bloody reason!"

The violin went quiet. That was too odd to be a coincidence.

"I even changed my PIN and my passwords!"

"Let me see."

John frowned at Sherlock's sudden interest, but yielded his place in front of the laptop. John's bank balance was on the display, all income and spending detailed. Sherlock went through the transaction list quickly, highlighting in his mind those he found relevant.

JUN/2 -2,21 BKR 1 ST 07:00

JUN/2 -43,80 TESCO 11:43

JUN/3 -2,21 BKR 1 ST 06:00

JUN/3 -10,89 Speedy's 07:42

JUN/3 -25,94 Thai cuisine 20:35

JUN/4 -2,21 BKR 1 ST 05:00

JUN/5 -2,21 BKR 1 ST 04:00

The smirk that appeared on the Sherlock's face was one that John knew well, he had just discovered something.

"It's a countdown. Addressed to us, by the way," Sherlock said from his new position by the window, violin still in hand. "The choice of amount to steal seems whimsical and in a way it is, but if read together with the rest of the description there is a clear message, which is '221 BaKeR StreeT.' The time marked decreases with the day, it's a countdown.

"Whoever's doing this isn't doing it for the money, are they?"

"Of course not. They are merely showing us the gun, they're not interested in actually firing it. It's about sending a message, they want our attention."

"Could it be Moriarty again?" John rubbed the back of his neck at the memory of that night at the pool.

"Not enough data to say. We will soon see."

"When does the countdown end?"

"The last transaction was today at 01:00, so it reaches zero in a few hours." Sherlock's tone betrayed his usual pre-case excitement .

"What'll happen then? Not that I'm concerned or anything, but the last time Moriarty and a countdown were involved there were bombs, remember?" He looked pointedly at his friend.

"We'll have to wait and see," Sherlock said with a grin.

John rolled his eyes and grabbed the nearest newspaper, opening it with a snap. Sherlock's careless attitude wasn't new but that didn't stop him from muttering, "They blew up the building across the street... and our bloody windows."

A sudden chime from Sherlock's computer on the coffee table interrupted them. It was a new message for them, a new client asking for help. John discarded the newspaper and left his flatmate to read as he went to make some tea. Hopefully Sherlock would take this new case instead of pacing around. It would be a good distraction from the mysterious countdown. He returned with two mugs.

"We will take this case. It seems easy enough to keep us occupied for 12 hours."

John's eyes went to the nearest clock, it read 11:48. In 12 hours the countdown would reach zero. Rubbing his neck he turned back to the computer. "'Hello, my name is Sam and I work at the Natural History Museum in London. A lot of weird things have been happening recently, from objects that disappear one moment and at the next they appear somewhere else, strange noises and now suicides– which is what the police call them because they can't accept the truth: It is the Curse of the Black Orlov...' John stopped reading. "I thought you didn't believe in curses, Sherlock."

"I don't. I am merely interested in the strange occurrences he mentions, which could shed some light on the circumstances surrounding the suicides"

"So we're investigating the suicides, not the curse itself." John took Sherlock's discarded dressing gown as his cue to go for his light jacket.

"Lestrade has been asking me to take a look at the case for a couple of days now, but those suicides weren't interesting until a few minutes ago."

"What happened a few minutes ago?"

Sherlock was already by the door, barely slowing to reply, "They just found another body."


	4. The Warm Up

The Warm Up

The cab left Sherlock and John in front of the museum's black iron fence. The lack of tourists and visitors made it obvious that it was closed to the public.

Sally Donovan was guarding the entrance, one hand on the yellow tape. "Look who's here! The freak and his friend."

"Good day, Donovan. I see you're having trouble with the cat sitting, you should really have those scratches looked at." Sherlock said, nodding to the three red lines near her wrist.

"Not your business," Sally said, lifting the yellow tape. She turned to address the uniformed officer to her left. "Sign them in."

"Bet you a tenner that Anderson is on forensics," John said as they headed to the east lawn.

"He is. Donovan doesn't have a friend with a Turkish Angora, but Anderson's neighbor does. He is the one on cat-sitting duty."

"So? That doesn't mean he's here now."

"They had to share the bathroom, taking twice as much time to get ready, so she didn't have time to attend to the scratches."

John rolled his eyes. "Right."

"Sherlock! John!" Lestrade waved at them from the crime scene. "It's good you could make it, we really could use your opinion on this one. Come have a look."

John let out a low whistle. The body had fallen head first from a great height and gray matter and blood decorated the stone floor.

Sherlock went to take a closer look while Lestrade spoke. "Harold Black. He was a janitor here, his supervisor said he was scheduled to work the evening and night shift yesterday. No address or family contacts."

Sherlock snapped his magnifier closed and rejoined them. Lestrade opened his mouth to ask if he got anything from his brief examination of the body when Sherlock grabbed his right forearm and took a look at the wet rim of Lestrade's sleeve before sniffing around the shocked man's hand. "Generic lemon-scented soap."

"Yes, I just washed my hands." Lestrade firmly withdrew his arm.

"The victim smelled too strongly of this for it to be a result of his job. That and the dryness of his skin means that he has been using this cheap soap as shampoo and shower gel."

"He was living here in the museum," John said.

"After that girl you mentioned at in The Blind Banker I guess it's possible to live in a museum without anyone noticing," Lestrade said.

Sherlock barely refrained from rolling his eyes at the reference to John's blog. "Yes, not only he was living here but he spent most of his time drinking going by the state of the soles of his shoes and uniform's stretched buttonholes-"

"It was a suicide," Anderson interrupted, removing the his plastic gloves with a snap. "As you said, he was a poor, drunk, and homeless man that got tired of this life and decided to jump. Look, there are no signs of struggle and the body is too close to the wall. The man wasn't pushed, he jumped. Textbook suicide, Holmes."

"It wasn't suicide. Take your input to someone who doesn't mind being wrong." Sherlock didn't wait to hear the man's reply before turning back to Lestrade. "When can we go up there?"

John followed the detective's gaze to the highest balcony of the nearest tower, the last place the victim stood alive.

Lestrade shrugged. "We can go now, if you like. A forensic team is already up there."

Sherlock only spoke once in the lift, and it was to ask Lestrade about the previous suicides. He was promised a copy of each file. When they arrived to their destination, the place was swarming with techs in blue protective gear.

A young man approached Lestrade. "Sir, we found another body."

Lestrade gaped. "What? My God, where?"

Sherlock wasted no time and was already looking over the stone balustrade. The body of another man was impaled on an iron spike of the Romanesque roof of the main building. He began typing on his phone while walking to the opposite side of the balcony, glancing at Harold Black's body below and a glaring Anderson. "I've seen enough. Let's go, John. We still have to talk to Sam Dawson."

Sherlock listed his observations in the lift. "According to the museum's website, that man on the roof was Vincent Ward, an exhibition curator. No one has noticed his absence so he has been dead approximately the same amount of time as the janitor, Mr. Black."

"Okay."

"Now, Black was wearing a small radio and earphones when he fell. The radio was still functioning after the fall but it was on mute-"

"So he heard something before he fell and he turned down the volume to listen better."

"Very likely. He also had a waxy substance on the soles of his shoes– he wanted to keep his footsteps silent, and on this floor the easiest way to do so is to coat one's shoes in wax. Think about it, John. A janitor is the perfect position to go unnoticed here, especially if people think he can't hear anything with earphones on."

"So he liked to sneak up on people?"

"No. He liked to eavesdrop. He listened to other people's conversations all the time."

"And then he listened to one that got him killed."

"Exactly."

/

"You'll think I'm crazy, but things move overnight, and sometimes there are strange noises coming from the halls." Sam Dawson turned out to be an overweight, fidgety security guard in his mid-thirties, who with little prompting took John and Sherlock to the place he had seen the strange occurrences. "This is The Vault. And this is Vince's exhibition-"

"Was," Sherlock said.

"Yes, he fell victim to the diamond's curse." Sam bowed his head. "That damned rock is here in The Vault. It was part of Vince's exhibition."

"Here it is, The Black Orlov." Sherlock's nose almost touched the reinforced glass that contained the black diamond. After a few minutes, he straightened and said, "What things in this room have moved overnight?"

Sam pointed out a bench on the corner of the room that moved about 20 centimeters to the left, and a couple ornamental vases in other corners of the room, all moving a few centimeters away from the nearest columns by night but back in their corners by morning.

Sherlock moved quickly around the room, trying to see exactly what Sam saw during his nightly rounds. "I have everything I need. Let's go back to Lestrade."

/

Sherlock moved around the balcony with pictures of the previous crime scene in his hand while John, Lestrade, Sam, and the Museum director, Walsh, looked on. There had been two bodies; a young woman, Katy Astor, and a young man, Josh Morgan, roughly in the same spot where the janitor lay dead now. He noticed the discoloration on Ms. Astor's ring finger and her high heels, which were under Morgan's body. He was wearing a black track suit with sneakers.

"So... have you got a theory?" Lestrade was the first to break the silence. All eyes were on Sherlock as he moved to the balustrade and looked down again at what were now three overlaid chalk silhouettes.

"No, not a theory." Sherlock handed the pictures back to Lestrade and took out his torch. "I know what happened. John, come here."

"What happened then, Mr. Holmes?" Sherlock's proximity to the ledge was making Walsh nervous.

His heart almost stopped when Sherlock said, "John, hold my legs."

John gaped. "Wha-?"

Then Sherlock let himself fall head first, torch in hand, off the edge of the balcony.

John leaped forward to wrap his arms around Sherlock's legs. The sudden impact with the balustrade knocked the air out of him but his grip was firm enough to stop them from free falling into Anderson's shaking arms five stories down. With Lestrade's help they held Sherlock's weight over the balustrade.

"Found it! You can pull me up now, John." Sherlock said calmly.

"I should just let you fall. You almost gave me a heart attack, you idiot!" John and Lestrade manhandled Sherlock to safety.

"I'm too old for this, mate! Never do that again." Lestrade leaned against the wall and wiped his brow.

"Here's what happened." Sherlock ignored them and began shaking the terracotta dust off his Belstaff. "Everything began and ended with a gem, just not the one everyone is thinking. It wasn't about the Black Orlov, it was about this one." Sherlock held up the ring he had just retrieved from the intricate façade beneath the balcony.

Lestrade whistled. "That is one huge rock."

"How much is it worth?" said Walsh, groping his pockets for his glasses.

Sherlock showed them a picture of the ring on his phone. "A few million. It was stolen from a museum in the Hague in 2002." Sherlock carelessly tossed the ring to Lestrade, who fumbled and caught it.

"But how did it get here?" said John.

"Josh Morgan, the second victim, stole it back in 2002. He was a talented thief and a romantic man. Ms. Astor, the first victim, was his fiancée and that was her engagement ring."

"Who gives a stolen diamond worth millions as an engagement ring?" John said.

"Lucky girl," Lestrade muttered.

"I guess that's why he was so angry when she dumped him, on this same balcony, two days ago."

"So the lad killed her?"

"Correct, Detective Inspector. He pushed her and she couldn't keep her balance in those high heels, so she fell to her death. She was murdered."

"And she took her fiancé down with her?" John said.

"No. During their row, she removed the engagement ring and extended her arm over the balcony, then opened her hand and let it fall. After he pushed her, he leaned over to see if she was dead-"

"And he saw the ring stuck down there. It was close enough to try to reach for it, " said John.

"Correct. But Morgan was too short to reach it and too stubborn to give up, so he lost his balance and fell as well."

"So, one murder and one accident. What about the Janitor?" said Lestrade.

"The janitor was a clever eavesdropper. One of the most entertaining conversations to someone of such a nosy disposition is a couple fighting. So he followed them up here that night, saw the fight but more importantly, when he went to investigate after Morgan's fall, he saw the ring as well, but he had already called the police-"

"So he waited until we cleared the crime scene before trying to reach for the ring himself."

"You're catching up, Lestrade. Yes, he waited until last night to try to reach for the ring."

"But Harold was tall, he didn't lose his balance like Josh, did he?" said Walsh.

"The problem was not his height but his shoes. He used wax on his soles to silence his footsteps. The slippery soles and a fright caused him to lose his balance and fall as well. Another accident."

"What about Vince? And what about the things moving overnight?" Sam said.

"Yes, what about Vince the curator? He couldn't have been trying to get the ring, he was found on the opposite side of the tower." Sherlock stood straighter with both hands behind his back before addressing Sam. "The strange noises and moving objects was Morgan. As I said, he was a thief preparing his next heist. At night, he moved the benches and vases to make space for a stepladder under the cameras and motion sensors in order to tamper with them."

"So when Vince found out Morgan was going to rob his exhibition, he confronted him and... Morgan killed him?" Sam's voice broke.

"Morgan died two days before Vince." John said.

"Vince's death was an accident. He was under the influence of some substance, and he tripped and fell. The noise frightened our dead janitor, causing his fatal slip. The exact substance should appear in the toxicology report."

John recognized that as Sherlock's farewell and followed his friend to the lift. They were waiting for it to arrive when Walsh rounded the corner in a hurry.

"You said Morgan was going to rob this museum, what was he trying to steal?"

"Oh, your former security guard was going to steal the Black Orlov." Said Sherlock as he and John stepped into the lift. "Too bad someone beat him to it." Sherlock smirked and pressed thebutton.

"What do you mean?" gasped Walsh.

"The diamond you have on display is a fake."

/

Alice pressed down on the latex, trying to feel her cheekbones under it. She opened and closed her mouth while scrunching her nose, pleased that her range of facial expressions was not hindered by the make-up. Even under the dresser's bright lights, the prosthetics' edges were completely invisible. She raised the white bathrobe's sleeve to scrub the inside of her left forearm with her thumb. No matter how hard she tried, the paint didn't even smudge. She leaned back in her chair and let her gaze wander over the blank wall before closing her eyes. She wanted time to focus and get used to her new identity.

She heard the door open and the room fall into a tense silence. She opened her eyes to see Jim dismissing the makeup artists with a wave of his hand. As usual, Sebastian stayed by the door, his muscular frame blocking the exit. Only the three of them remained in the room.

Jim stood behind the chair and placed his cold hands on her shoulders. "Let's take a look at you, puppy." He took a lock of her just dyed blond hair and began playing with it, moving it between his fingers, staring at its new golden color. He abruptly dropped it and turned her chair to face him.

"What do you think, Jim?" Alice looked up at him and rested her hands on her lap, a confident smile on the edge of her lips.

"They changed your nose and your chin has a rounder look." He cupped her cheek, his thumb moving softly over it. "I liked your sharp cheekbones better, and your skin now has a perpetually innocent blush." His tone was soft and gentle, but she knew one of his explosions was coming. His comments started to come faster. "Look at you– flowing blonde hair, big blue eyes, round face, you look like-"

Alice could see his heartbeat in the vein on his forehead and the chair creaked under his grip. She had to stop the explosion before it happened. "I am not on the side of the angels, Jim," she said, raising her new, round chin. "I am your Planner, I am on your side." She placed her hand on top of his.

"Yes." He placed his hands around her head and leaned over to place a soft kiss on her forehead. "You are my puppy."

Alice nodded. "This is all liquid latex and makeup, it's not permanent. I need this for the plan, Jim."

"At least they didn't make you look like a whore."

"This look has been carefully designed with a specific purpose in mind," she said defensively, pointing towards a computer generated picture tucked in the mirror's corner that the make-up artists were instructed to use for reference. She didn't like her new appearance either, but defeating Sherlock was more important than her feelings.

"Yes, I read the overview of your plan and I have to say–" A wicked smirk appeared on Jim's face as he gave her chair a sharp tug so she faced the mirror again. "Watching you place the apple of discord between Sherlock and his dear doctor is going to be simply delightful. I can't wait to read the full report." Leaning over her he placed another kiss on top of her head. "I knew you had it in you, Puppy."

Alice closed her eyes for a couple of seconds to enjoy warmth the small gesture brought, but quickly shove it away. She shouldn't be craving his attention. She cleared her throat to compose herself. "My game with Sherlock Holmes begins in a few hours and I still need to arrange some minor details. Did you come to see me off?"

"We did. That and to remind you that this is not all fun and games, you have a job to do, remember?" He was standing closer to the door now, hands in his pockets.

"Yes, Jim."


	5. The Meeting

The Meeting

Alice stared at the pill in her palm. Her pride told her not to, that she was good enough and smart enough without it. But she took a deep breath and clenched her eyes shut, the decision had already been made. She was only trying to stall. Her sore left shoulder was a reminder of her latest failure. The bone was almost completely healed but the memory and shame were still fresh. If that little orange tablet in her hand could keep her from failing again, she had to take it. Pride be damned! She reached for a bottle of mineral water, drinking it quickly to wash it down.

The empty water bottle almost made her laugh out loud. Two years ago, who would have guessed that little homeless Alice would be sitting in the back of a luxury car, drinking bottled water imported from France on her way to meet Sherlock Holmes. She rested her head back, eyes fixed on the ceiling. She has been trying to sort a few feelings without much success, they made her chest feel heavy and her stomach twist in a knot. She wasn't good with her feelings, never fully understood them. She felt the car come to a stop and saw the famous door out the window.

"Ma'am, we have arrived," the chauffer said through the screen. He was not allowed to interact with her any other way. It was one of Jim's rules, he never offered an explanation.

She grabbed her handbag and, with a last glance at the mirror, exited the car. As she approached the door, she took a deep breath and locked her emotions in a mental vault for a private moment when she could properly sort them.

/

John drummed his fingers on the armrest and checked his watch for the tenth time in two minutes. His fixed his eyes back to the telly but his mind kept wondering. Sherlock's voice sounded distant even in the same room.

"It's obviously the gardener's fault! How can people miss something like that? Check the buttons!" Sherlock shouted and turned off the telly. He placed the remote control on the table and picked up his phone to check the time. "40 seconds to midnight, John. Get ready."

"What if it's a bomb? How do I get ready for that, hm?" John stood up to look out the window, seeing nothing unusual aside from the couple of cars parked on the dark street. He moved to sit back on his chair and resumed his nervous drumming. "At least Mrs. Hudson is at a friend's for the night."

"Don't be ridiculous, it's not a bomb. 20 seconds left." Sherlock was standing in the middle of the flat, eyes glued to his phone.

John rolled his eyes and reached for his gun. "How sure are you that it's not a bomb?"

"Pretty sure." Sherlock shrugged. "78%." He turned away from John's incredulous expression. "Whatever it is will appear on the news or in another message in your bank account balance. And it will happen in 3, 2-"

Someone knocked on their front door.

Both men froze. John could hear the dripping of the leaky kitchen sink and the faint murmur of a car engine, followed by a loud bang.

John watched as Sherlock moved to inspect. "Stay away from the windows!" he whispered and moved to press his back against the wall.

"Don't be absurd. That was a car backfiring." Sherlock scoffed. "There's a black Audi outside, new and bulletproof-"

Someone knocked on the door again.

Sherlock moved to open the door. John followed, avoiding the creaky parts of the stairs, gun in his hand. Sherlock wrapped his hand around the handle and threw it open.

John did a double-take, he thought for a moment they had an angel at their front door. The girl was dressed in all white, with golden hair that reached the middle of her back. For a second, he thought he saw a halo of light around her. She was staring at Sherlock with wide blue eyes.

Sherlock looked directly at her. His mind recovered quickly from the surprise and he immediately began analyzing her. Her white shoes were just-out-of-the-box new, her white clothes were pristine, not a stain in sight. She hadn't eaten recently. She had a nut allergy.

"Good evening." She hesitated when her eyes fell on John. "I'm sorry, I thought you were expecting me."

John frowned when he saw her slowly raise her hands. He followed her stare to the gun in his hands. "Sorry." He lowered the pistol out of her sight and cleared his throat. "We were expecting some _thing_ rather than some _one_. Would you like to come in?" Sherlock was still blocking the door staring intently at her.

Sherlock watched their interaction. He noted how she had shrugged her purse from her shoulder to the crook of her elbow before raising her arms. The height she chose to raise them was not a coincidence, it left the purse's contents within her reach. She also kept her eyes on John until she heard the click sound of him decocking the gun and took a small step back, just enough to keep them both in sight. But she didn't look afraid, just careful.

John led the way upstairs and allowed her to enter the flat first.

"I didn't know you can keep the gun after military service." She smiled and nodded at John as she passed.

John cleared his throat and put the gun in a drawer. "You can't. Tea?"

"Yes, thank you." She smiled and turned her attention to Sherlock. "Nice flat." She removed her coat and placed it neatly on the sofa's arm rest.

Sherlock stiffened. "Yes it is." He remained standing by the door and continued to try to deduce her but there wasn't much to tell. She was like a blank, white canvas.

She looked around, pausing at the skull over the chimney, then at his books collection. "How did I do?" She grabbed a book from the shelf.

"Sorry?" His eyes still fixed on her and the diamond necklace that had been covered by her coat.

"I read your blog, studied it, actually." She flipped through the pages, stopping on the occasional picture before snapping it close. "Really interesting material, you should publish it." She put it back on the shelf in a different spot. "I decided to run an experiment, I hope you don't mind." For the first time since they stepped on the flat she turned to face him. "Someone told me it was easy to use all that knowledge against you, Sherlock. I wanted to give it a try."

She moved to stand in the middle of the room and extended her arms to the sides, turning to give him a 360º view of herself, then faced him again with a mischievous grin. "How did I do? Did I make it too obvious? Can you deduce my allergies?" She abruptly changed her posture, hunching her shoulders forward switching her weight a few times and rubbing her hands together. Her mocking stare and smile contrasted her nervous mimic. "Did I do better than his gay act?"

The staring match ended when John crossed the room with a full tray. He placed it on the coffee table and turned to look at them. His eyes widened when they fell on the black diamond on her neck. It stood out among all the white she was wearing. "I missed something, didn't I?"

"Not at all, we were talking about the accuracy of his deductions and past cases." She said accepting the cup and peered at the tray. "Honey almonds! How did you know those are my favorites?" She took one with a charming smile and went to sit on the sofa.

Sherlock observed her from his chair with narrowed eyes, reclining back and raising an eyebrow when she pointedly bit the almond biscuit, going as far as winking smugly when John wasn't watching.

John sat down in his chair. "Is that what I think it is?"

"Yes. That is the real Black Orlov." Sherlock steepled his fingers in front of his mouth.

She smiled triumphantly. "It's beautiful don't you think? A bit heavy." She paused to take a sip of tea. "But the occasion called for it."

"What's the occasion, exactly?" Sherlock finally reached for his own cup.

"Meeting you." She smiled, showing off her perfect teeth.

He raised an eyebrow. "So you dressed to impress me?"

John felt he had missed something important. He frowned and tried to remember when he had been in this situation before. His thoughts were interrupted by the girl's high-pitched, feminine laugh.

"No, but it's better than undressing. That was Ms. Adler's mistake, she thought that having you drooling and unable to think-" She briefly mimicked Sherlock's flabbergasted expression, mouth open, eyes wide and raised eyebrows.

John tried to stifle his laughter.

Sherlock only let out an annoyed grunt.

The girl reformed her serene expression and continued. "-Was going to be the trick into beating you. I need you thinking, Sherlock."

John shook his head and gestured to the diamond. "Okay. How did you get that?"

She shrugged. "The client won't be expecting it until tomorrow evening. Why not enjoy myself a bit?" She sighed and broke eye contact for a moment "It was also my plan B, in case the countdown was not enough to get your attention." She interlaced her fingers and rested her hands over her lap. "Which reminds me, all those charges made to your account will be reversed by tomorrow morning."

"Client?" John leaned forward in his seat. "Who are you? Why did you want our attention?"

"My name is Alice and I have a simple proposal: If you can solve all the cases I give you, you win. If you can't, I win." She was sitting with her back straight and her ankles crossed to the side, gloved hands resting softly on her lap. A winning smile adorned her face.

"That sounds like you want to hire us, which would make you a client," said John.

"My motivation is very different, Dr. Watson. This is a challenge. These cases will prove that I can beat Sherlock Holmes and his Dr. Watson at their game."

"So you just went around collecting unusual cases for Sherlock to solve? I fail to see how that makes you different from-"

"She didn't collect them, John. She designed them," Sherlock said.

"The correct word is 'planned.' I am a Consulting Planner." Alice leaned forward as if she was revealing a secret "And he is certain these cases - my cases- are Sherlock-proof."

John knew that look in his friend's eyes. This is what he had been waiting for: a real challenge. "Who is 'he?'"

"Excellent question!" She leaned back and raised her chin with a tight-lipped smile. "Can you answer that, Sherlock?"

John kept his eyes on her while he waited for Sherlock's response. There was something about her that reminded him of someone. It came in small flashes, in fleeting moments when she raised her eyebrow or in her relaxed but self-assured posture. John knew there was something amiss with this girl, but every time his suspicions grew she smiled innocently and all was forgotten.

"You are part of Moriarty's network. He saw something special and sponsored you. Nothing new, except you have met the man in person." Sherlock glanced at John's stunned expression.

Alice nodded. "He is so confident in my work that he is willing to give you significant insight into his operations if you win."

John clenched his teeth. "How? Does the answer involve a bomb strapped to my chest?"

Alice briefly adverted her gaze. "No. There is a USB drive containing important information -names, places, bank accounts- concerning his criminal network. If you win it's yours." She saw Sherlock open his mouth to protest. "Password too, of course. No tricks." She smiled.

John huffed and looked at the ceiling. He scratched his chest and if he closed his eyes he was sure he would hear the sound of the bomb vest's Velcro straps. But Moriarty's games were too tempting for Sherlock to let them pass.

"We accept," said Sherlock.

"Very good." Alice leaned back into her chair with a satisfied smile. "Before I give you your first case, I must tell you more about this game and its rules. First, if a case is left unsolved in the time given, you lose. Second, I can add rules as the game progresses and if you fail to comply, you lose. Third, do your best."

John frowned at the second rule but Sherlock just nodded.

"Good. Your first case is the Black Orlov. Tell me how I got it." Alice grabbed her coat and stood. "This is my card. Thank you for your time, I'll show myself out." She placed the small card on the coffee table and left.

Sherlock stood by the window and watched her get in the back seat of the waiting black car.

"Are you sure about this? How do we know she wasn't lying and there isn't such USB drive? " John sighed from his chair.

"Her bracelet, John. The golden bracelet around her left wrist shouldn't be worn with the Black Orlov, the metals don't match. She knew that, but she still wore it –why? sentimentality? No, the scratches on the inside indicate she removes it constantly. She has access to money, she could easily replace it if she loses it and yet she is constantly making sure it is still on her wrist. That's the flash drive. Obviously password protected and heavily encrypted."

"Moriarty doesn't strike me as the kind of man to let a girl walk around with that sort of information. Much less trust her to keep it safe," John said.

"He isn't." Sherlock smirked when he saw her car drive down the street, escorted by two others. "Moriarty has decided to stop sending his pawns and is attacking with a more valuable piece."

John leaned to pick up the card she left behind. It was made of expensive card stock, full black with a skull embossed at the top. The script was silver cursive.

Alice C. Doyle

Consulting Planner

Its elegance and style didn't fit a teenager. Nothing about her fit her age. She dressed and carried herself like knew something that the rest of the world didn't.

She still reminded John of someone he knew, but he still couldn't place who.

Thank you all for your reviews! They make my day, help me improve my writing and encourage me to write faster.

*joycelyn. : Thank you for your review, it was helpful. I think understand what you meant by the distant characters and I'll work on it, hopefully in the following chapters you'll notice a difference. I would love to hear from you again.

*MysteryGirly130: Thank you! It feels great to know someone out there enjoys my story enough to leave a review! Hope to hear from you again!


	6. Case 1: The Black Orlov part 1

Hello! I'm sorry for the delay, I've been really busy these past couple of months. Hopefully you are all still interested in continuing reading...

Chapter 6

Case 1: The Black Orlov part 1

Alice texted Sherlock two days later.

 _St. Bart's Hospital. Second row, it's the third drawer from_ _the_ _left. -AD_

The ride to St. Bart's was tense, Sherlock spent most of it typing on his phone and John stared anxiously out the window.

At the morgue, Sherlock went directly to the freezer.

"Sherlock! John! Can I help you with something?"

They turned to see Molly in the doorway. Her big eyes had shadows under them uncovered by make-up and her hair was barely combed and tied in a loose pony tail. Her clothes were a bit wrinkled too. She had been in a rush this morning.

"Isn't this your day off?" John said.

"A colleague had a family emergency, so I'm covering for her," she said.

Sherlock's phone vibrated in his pocket.

 _I thought_ _a familiar face_ _would make you more efficient. You're welcome. -AD_

Sherlock clenched his jaw, but quickly relaxed and returned his phone to his pocket. "Molly, we need to examine this body." He pointed to the drawer in the second row, third one from the left.

"That one? It came in almost two days ago." Molly looked confused but moved towards the freezer.

John got the first look. "That's the other man from the museum, isn't it? The one that fell onto a spike on the roof– Vince something." The stitches forming a 'Y' in the man's chest showed his autopsy had already been done. John glanced at Sherlock, surprised that he hadn't yet approached to examine the body.

Sherlock was staring intently at the screen of his phone.

Before John could say anything, Sherlock handed it to him so he could read the new text for himself.

 _As of now,_ _you have 32 hours to solve this case. Will you be able to tell me how I got the Black Orlov before_ _time runs out? Good Luck. -AD_

John raised an eyebrow and turned to Sherlock, but he was already hunched over the body on the slab.

"Molly, you said he's been here for two days. Why hasn't the body been claimed?" John said.

"He had no family left. He donated his body to science actually. I have his papers in the office, I'll go get them." Molly stepped out, and by the time she returned Sherlock was done with his examination. He immediately grabbed the papers from her startled hands.

"Thank you, but we need to be on our way." By the end of the sentence the door to the morgue was closing behind him and an apologetic John, the detective's voice resounding in the empty hall.

John managed to catch up when the detective hailed a cab outside St. Bart's. "Where are we going now?" John started to read the file Molly gave them.

Sherlock was already typing on his phone. "The curator had moved recently to a flat closer to the Museum, but the new address is not listed in that file. He had old bruises on his legs, close to his knees. He moved to a smaller apartment where he wasn't used to the new arrangement of the furniture. He owned a car but the calluses in his hands indicates he hadn't touched a steering wheel in a couple of months. Which means he sold his car recently."

"His autopsy revealed advanced cirrhosis of the liver and his lungs were in bad condition as well. He was dying, Sherlock" John interrupted.

"That's what I said."

"When?"

"Just now. Why else would somebody sell his house and car to move to a smaller flat? He had expensive hospital bills, no family to take care of him, and not much time left. He obviously rented his flat for periods of time smaller than a month, it would be a waste to pay the rent for a full month if you die in the first week. Now, what type of leaseholder does that?" Sherlock handed John his phone with the search results on a website specializing in locating places for rent. There was one that fit Sherlock's description: small, rented weekly, ten minutes on foot from the museum and, most importantly, published just the day before.

"The kind that puts the place back on the market 24 hours after the previous renter was declared dead."

"Precisely." Sherlock smirked and leaned forward to give the cabbie the address.

/

"This one," Sherlock said in front of a blue door. The building looked old, and so far they'd encountered no one in the hall or in the lift. Sherlock was about to take out his lock-picks when a deep voice startled them.

"You are here to rent, yes?" The man seemed to appear out of nowhere and had a very thick accent that John could place from somewhere in eastern Europe.

Sherlock scanned the big man quickly and came with the conclusion that he wouldn't tell them anything unless he thought they were interested in doing business. "Oh! Hi... yes, we were looking to rent a place close to Ed's job and we saw the ad."

John struggled to contain his surprise. He still found it hard to believe how quickly and easily Sherlock could change from proud detective to friendly citizen. His friend's acting skills sometimes scared him.

"Come, I show you the flat." They stepped aside to let the man limp over to the blue door.

Once in the middle of the plain living room, Sherlock began inspecting his surroundings, occasionally seeming to look for something in the ceiling.

"Two bedrooms, one and a half bathrooms, furniture is included." John stood awkwardly next to the man as he recited the flat's specifics.

He broke his silence when the landlord began to look suspiciously at Sherlock. "That's great! And the price is well within our budget." John knew his acting skills were not as polished as Sherlock's but he thought he was somewhat convincing.

"Ed!" Sherlock re-entered from the bedroom to their left.

It took John a second to remember who Ed was, but then he jumped and said, "Yes?"

"We should get going, we have a few more flats to check out today." Sherlock was walking quickly, meaning he had a new lead he was eager to follow. "Thank you, we'll be in touch."

"What did you find?" John said when they were alone in the lift.

"The flat was empty of personal objects -likely sold or in storage- but the furniture remains in the same place Vince left it. The important information will come from the neighbors." Sherlock took out a piece of paper, scribbled something on it and folded it with a 20£ note. He was going to use his homeless network to gather information.

"Are we going back there?" John didn't like the idea of encountering the landlord again.

"He'll be absent in an hour. Gambling habit. We'll come back then." As they walked away from the building, Sherlock discreetly handed the folded note to a boy in the entrance of the nearest alleyway.

John wasn't entirely convinced by Sherlock's dismissive tone but nodded anyway.

/

An hour and a hasty lunch for John later, they were standing in front of the last door in the hallway. They'd tried knocking on the other five doors in the hall but no neighbors seemed to be home. It was Sherlock's turn to knock. To their surprise, the door swung open and a blond woman in her mid-fifties greeted them, along with the overwhelming smell of incense. John muffled a cough with his jacket.

"Hello, lost souls in need of guidance." Her raspy voice mixed with the sound of her bangles and strings of beads around her neck.

"Hello there. Ed and I are looking for-"

"Don't tell me! I'll feel exactly what your souls seek." She shushed Sherlock with a couple of fingers, a big amethyst ring touching the tip of his nose. With her other hand she dangled a crystal pendulum in front of them. "I can see your auras combine in a cool blue halo but they are tainted. You must be here for a cleansing." She finished her diagnosis with closed eyes and a deep exhalation.

Sherlock and John shared a look.

"I have couple's discount."

John lost his patience and leaned closer to her. "Vincent Ward, did you know him? He was your neighbor."

She paled and her keen smile changed to a tight line. "I don't know that name."

John jerked backwards avoid being hit by the door.

Sherlock turned on his heel. "We're taking the stairs this time."

Sherlock paused in the stairwell to stare at the floor map on the wall next to the fire extinguisher and repeated the action on every floor on their way down. John followed his fast descent with a couple of frustrated sighs.

/

Alice inhaled the smell of expensive food and cologne as she stepped away from the car. This restaurant was very exclusive, but she was no stranger to it. She was dressed for the occasion in a white dress with a high neck and equally white heels. She strode towards the maître d' with confident steps and chin high. Just before reaching the podium, she removed her right glove with one fluid movement.

"Good evening, Miss. May I have your name?"

Alice rested her right hand on the edge of the podium. The maître d's rehearsed smile changed into a knowing grin when he saw the skull ring on her finger.

"I don't need a table tonight. This will only take a moment."

With a nod, he wished her a good evening and let her pass. Alice sent an equally polite smile his way. She loved it when the staff understood discretion.

The restaurant was full, and as Alice walked among the tables she recognized celebrities with their dates, politicians with their wives or mistresses, and the occasional businessman. But the person she was looking for wouldn't be out here. This man enjoyed his privacy.

Alice couldn't contain her mischievous smile. He's so much fun to irk.

The private table at the back was behind two walls and had a direct door to the kitchen, only the staff had access or a visual on it. The Queen herself could be sitting there and no one would notice. She would have to go through the kitchen to avoid his security detail.

She walked up to the double swing doors and knocked on the round glass window with her ring. The sound caught the attention of a waiter standing on the other side, his eyes went wide when he saw it. He jumped to open the door for her, blanching when she stared him down for hesitating. Alice made her way through the kitchen quickly as the staff parted to let her pass. As she replaced her glove, hiding her ring again, she stifled a laugh at a childish thought. It practically was the Queen she was about to interrupt.

Alice strode into the private room and sat gracefully in the opposite chair. It was a table for two – not that he was expecting someone. The waiter was placing his meal in front of him, but he didn't react to her sudden appearance. She placed her hands on the table and greeted him with a cold smile.

"Hello, Mycroft."

* * *

Thank you so much for your reviews, favorites and follows. They make look forward to posting the next chapter :)

 **Black Star 145885:** You have a great memory! Yes, I moved a couple of events and scenes a bit in the timeline.

 **joycelyn. :** I think I got a bit back to the distance feeling. I agree with you, it happens more often when Alice is not on the chapter. Getting Sherlock's emotions right is tough!

 **Lulu:** Thank you!

 **Fan-of-Fandom279:** hehe actually, I have written a few more chapters but these past few months I have been super busy to revise and publish them. These holydays should help with that.


	7. Second Encounter with the British Gov

Chapter 7

The Second Encounter with the British Government

Mycroft stared at the girl in front of him, face carefully neutral.

"Nice to see you again." She smiled and signaled to the waiter to fill her wine glass with whatever Mycroft was drinking.

"I still don't condone underage drinking." Mycroft said scathingly. He recognized her voice. Her accent was still intact even after living in London for more than two years. Mycroft dismissed the waiter after she received her glass.

She had made an effort to try and look older, her makeup and height fooled most people, but not him.

"I don't condone people breaking their diets." She looked pointedly at his plate. "But I don't suppose you'll exchange that foie gras for something less fatty, so both of us will have to look the other way."

Alice locked eyes with him before raising her glass and taking a small sip, daring him to object, but he just watched her. She'd grown taller, dyed her hair blonde and was wearing colored contacts. Her nose and cheekbones looked different but he could see no sign of surgery, which meant make up and prosthetics.

He narrowed his eyes. "You've changed."

Alice tightened her grip on her glass. "I had to." She raised it against the light and watched the liquid swirl around. "But you haven't."

"I don't need to evade facial recognition technology or surveillance networks." He only looked down to cut through his perfectly cooked steak.

"Of course you don't. You control it all." She lowered her glass to take another sip, smiling over the rim. "Or so you think."

"You've been busy." Mycroft said after a beat of silence.

"More than you know." Alice smirked. "In fact, I'm here because a little bird told me you were interested in reclaiming this." Alice placed a black key card on the table.

Mycroft acted uninterested, but he had been looking for that key card. It was reported missing according to protocol when the person responsible for it didn't arrive to work that day. That was 12 hours ago, too much time for it to end up in the wrong hands. He needed it back so urgently that he was even considering going to Sherlock for help.

"How's Sherlock?" Alice suddenly changed the subject.

"Who wants to know? You or Moriarty?"

"I might pass your answer on to Jim, he does enjoy a bit of gossip. Especially if Sherlock is involved." Alice took another sip from her glass, but after a brief look at the remaining amount, pushed it away.

"I don't think Sherlock has changed drastically since you saw him last– three days ago. He is busy with your game," Mycroft said.

"As he should be," she said sharply.

"That's why you bothered to retrieve the key. To have my little brother all to yourself."

"As much as I would have liked to watch your precious operation crash, we all have to make sacrifices." She placed her hand over the card, preventing him from reaching over and take it. "No distractions, Mr. Mycroft, that's the price."

"May I offer a counterproposal?" Mycroft put down the knife and fork, prepared to bargain with her. He knew she wanted something more out of Sherlock, even though she already had the detective running around London doing whatever she wanted.

"No, my offer is too good as it is," Alice leaned back in her chair, drumming her fingers over the card. "I'm not asking for much, all I want is for you to step back and don't ask Sherlock to solve any cases for you."

Mycroft leaned back in his chair as well, keeping his eyes on hers.

The silence lasted until Alice broke it with a laugh. "I can always rely on you to choose a bunch of strangers over your own brother." She stood with a smile. "It's been delightful doing business with you, Mycroft. Enjoy the rest of your evening."

Mycroft clenched his jaw. She knew he was going to accept before he said anything. The first time he met her, he'd thought her harmless– just a talented oddity working on the wrong side. His hand on the table clenched into a fist. He should have snatched her out of Moriarty's grip when he had the chance.

Now he was too late. Mycroft could see the consulting criminal in the girl's stance and stare. He wondered if the fidgety and insecure girl he met months ago still existed under this new cold and calculating personality. Mycroft watched as Alice made her way to the exit. She held her phone in one hand and her unfinished wine glass in the other.

"I see Moriarty is not as accepting as you thought. Are you finding his standards harder to meet?" He saw her stop, shoulders tense. "Those pills are only a temporary solution, Alice. What do you think will happen when he discovers your little secret?"

Alice turned slowly and squared her shoulders, tensed like a coiled spring. "Is that a threat?" she said.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. "Does it need to be?"

Her face twisted into a furious scowl. "Have a pleasant evening, Mr. Holmes," she snapped.

Mycroft smiled as he watched her retreat. If she could still be thrown by such a simple deduction, then the old Alice could still be reached. That brought some relief, even more than the precious key card safe in his chest pocket.

His mistake was not irreversible.

/

The way back to the car at the restaurant's rear entrance was a blur to Alice. She remembered walking fast through the kitchen, the cooking staff rushing to avoid collisions, placing herself her half empty wine glass in the steam washing machine and turning it on, but after that it was a complete blank until she found herself seated in the back of the car.

Alice kept repeating the scene in her mind as she gazed out the tinted window. Mycroft's words shouldn't have affected her, but she was still struggling to stop her hands from shaking. She hadn't ever been good at identifying her own emotions, and right now it felt like trying to separate a big tangle of cables. She felt scared and ashamed his words effected on her, then anger that he could see through her, even for a brief second.

Jim always told her Mycroft would try to steal her. He warned her Mycroft would try to use her against him. She had thought herself immune, but a couple of sentences proved her wrong. Maybe Jim's decision to minimize her interaction with Mycroft was correct. The idea of failing Jim sent a cold shiver down her spine.

Alice's breathing quickened and she squeezed her eyes shut. She had worked so hard to leave that weak girl behind. She had gotten help to make sure the transition was irreversible. She creamed in frustration and unleashed a flurry of kicks and punches against the soft leather back of the front seat. Her energy depleted, Alice fell back against the bench, hair wild and breathing hard. If Irene could see her now, she would be very disappointed. Alice rubbed her neck in an futile attempt to dislodge the knot forming there. She wanted to blame her stinging eyes on exhaustion, but knew that would be unfair to her late mentor.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Queen's 'Don't stop me now,' Jim's ringtone. Alice quickly checked her reflection in her compact to make herself presentable again, combing her fingers through her hair and retouching her makeup. Holding her phone in front of her and cracking her most convincing smile, she answered it.

"Hello, Puppy!" Jim said. By the background, he was in a car as well. "How was your meeting with the Iceman?"

"He agreed to the terms. No need to modify the plan." Jim hated it when the reports were too long.

"Good." For a moment, he looked pleased, but his expression soon changed to one of irritation.

Alice was used to Jim's unpredictable mood swings. She also knew he hadn't just called to hear about her meeting.

"The Stiglieri Brothers are falling behind. I need you to oversee their work, you always manage to get them back on track."

Alice contained a groan but her fake smile faltered a bit. "I'll pay them a visit. They will meet their deadline."

"See to it." Jim hung up without a farewell, as usual.

With a tired sigh, she notified the driver of their new destination and dropped the phone on the seat next to her. Alessandro and Leonardo Stiglieri were a handful, but the best in their field. She was starting to believe they delayed work on purpose so Jim would send her to scold them. The first time she met them she had learned that their mouths worked fast but their hands were faster, and sometimes her glares were not enough to make them drop their useless efforts to flirt with her. Alice pinched the bridge of her nose before sighing again, she needed to be fully alert.

Checking her watch, Alice realized she had been awake for 42 hours straight. It wasn't even close to her personal record, but she would need the extra burst to stay sharp. She took out her silver pill case and picked a big white capsule, swallowing it with water from the mini-fridge. That should be enough for another 4 to 6 hours. She returned to staring out the window. It was a matter of minutes before she felt its effects. Aside from the initial rush that made her body temperature and blood pressure rise, she enjoyed the feeling of being fully alert and working at full capacity, even if the effects only lasted for a few hours.

Mycroft's words echoed in her mind, "Those pills are only a temporary solution, Alice."

They became louder and louder and she didn't notice her hands squeezing and twisting the empty water bottle on her lap. How did he know about the pills? No one except Sebastian knew about them. She was so careful to keep them hidden, especially from Jim. If Mycroft could tell, did that mean that Jim could, too?

Her gloves suddenly felt constricting, Alice yanked them off and threw them to the side. She rubbed her hands together before running her fingertips over the skull ring, seeking reassurance. It was a symbol Jim made sure his whole network knew. It meant she was Jim's planner, second only to his right-hand man, he gave it to her himself. And she would never stop proving to Jim she was worthy of it.

"You missed your chance, Mycroft."

* * *

 **joycelyn.** : I loooved your review, I read it a bunch of times! You are right, this Sherlock is not very warm, /yet/ (I hope this doesn't count as an spoiler hehe). This chapter took almost forever to get right (my beta sure knows this), Alice is tough but has her insecurities that will continue to come up. It is going to be a long and agitated ride, isn't it fun?

 **Black Star 145885** : Thank you for your review! I read it a bunch of times as well. I live for the little details, I spend a bunch of time trying to piece every little piece together. I'm glad someone notices it. If you thing this chapter has a lot of Mycroft wait until chapter 10 and 11. I changed those A LOT.


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